Regina
by rosaxx50
Summary: Written for the TPE: Writing Challenges' Seven Days of Midwinter Challenge. After his Coronation, Jonathan and Thayet adjust to each other, taking careful steps on the road from infatuation to partnership and love.


The side of Jon's bed dips. Thayet's proximity would be inappropriate, but the earthquake tore down his bedchamber wall. They're practically in _public_.

"They're waiting for me," he surmises.

"At least you're not pretending ignorance."

"My people will see their new king being useless." The worry has weighed on him like endless night.

For all that Thayet's face dazzled him, it's easier to be dazzled by her mind.

"But they will _see_ you, my lord." She is, momentarily, somewhere distant. "And see you are doing _something_."

Sarain. Her mother. Jon sees shared knowledge on her face, in the breaking light.

* * *

><p>"This seems an unusual priority, right now."<p>

"Tortall can never have enough fighters," says Gary. "Especially now."

Her feet continue steadily over recently repainted flooring. Her father was Warlord, not King; "Tortall's defenses" feel no more enigmatic than "rebuilding".

They enter.

She'd met the boy kneeling at Jon's feet, and thought him fully grown. Only now, in contrast, she realizes she was wrong.

"It's Jon's first time," Gary adds.

That explains the emotions across Jon's face: pride, confidence, _remembrance. Sorrow._

Thayet sees it all. She's his mirror.

_She'd_ been the one to draw out names, in sequence, for their Ordeals.

* * *

><p>Among my mother's people, we honor the Crimson Stallion in the nights that seem eternal. It was born with a mane that BLAZED<p>

_("Magicked?"_

_"A more mundane explanation: its color.")_

scarlet. Too noticeable for battle, no owner would keep it.

Seasons changed. The very first Midwinter came, with snowstorms hanging like endless veils and with the first K'miri winter battle.

_(She finds in his eyes, surprisingly, no scorn for her tale's casual reference to the Dawn of Time)._

Only _one_ horse could be seen, and therefore lead the K'miri charge.

_("Weaknesses become strengths." Jon touches her soft palm, her calluses.)_

* * *

><p>They leave her K'miri contemplating tomorrow, and his spymaster admiring candlelight warming Eleni's smile. Same thing.<p>

Jon pretends privacy is his Midwinter gift to his friends. They could slip into the palace's hidden nooks. But his gift's not actually intended for _them_.

"I thought Tortall could not be peaceful."

"You could say it still isn't."

Below, Tortallans brave the night's snow for caroling, scarlet from drinking (if Alex _remembered_ this, he'd have lived) together.

"They're almost _all_ happy, or _trying_." Thayet's awed, disbelieving. Pauses. "I could be."

And she's no longer _visiting_ his house.

(His gift is also for himself.)

* * *

><p>Country lines mean nothing to gods, but humans, brief sparks that shine starbright... they're fascinating. Pawns and pieces alike.<p>

This woman is neither her first nor her last, but for Alanna she fashions a Destiny. She visits one night, a sweep of forest green and echoes of baying bloodhounds, and crafts her favored a path forward as warrior queen, to care for Alanna's beloved Tortall.

A single crossroads, and Alanna's destiny changes hands to a Sarain, half K'miri savage's.

Alanna is warrior still, but this queen will care for drought-stricken Tortall. As much _mother_ as protector.

_Fascinating_.

She blesses them.

* * *

><p>"Your offer's not a secret," Thayet realizes.<p>

"Gossip tends to get out," Jon admits.

"Others won't see my answer for what it is," she says, "but what it _could_ mean." Her answer could be used as living proof of Jon's character.

Jon and Alanna have given her so much, asking no favors in return. Is this one?

"I don't want your agreement for appearances' sake. Or," Jon says, too sharply, like he's afraid, "because you feel you owe something. It's your choice. In Tortall, it always will be."

_Even if it's 'No.'_

"Then everyone will know that I chose _you_."

* * *

><p>It's not always easy.<p>

Jonathan's infatuation fades away as his actual relationship with her grows. (His poetry doesn't.) Thayet learns that sometimes she can let herself hope, and dream, and act on what she wants.

In the indeterminate time between one dynamic and the next (because relationships cannot be cleanly defined in stages) they wonder. Argue. Find compromises. Argue more when they can't. Spend time apart when she visits the desert, even if to the Voice, she is not entirely out of reach.

Then they're together again, and life is better. Good turned difficult, but amazing.

So that's it, then.


End file.
